Mind Poem by Amy Whittlesey

Millions upon millions of things happen
at once in this world, this universe, this scenario,
this room

So it shouldn't not make sense that I can read
Mrs.Dalloway, write a poem, and listen
to an outline of the new DSM-5 in group,
at the same time.

In the back ward of four points and Thorazine
they erase you. In group, 'No cross talk'
rules

How does a foal learn to suckle? We don't know.
We got wrecked by our mothers and others
growing up into illustrations of all that's gone awry

in this sad State of the Union-we are,
a retrospective of the penalties
of too much pain